


Electra Heart

by comeaftermejackrobinson



Series: To Love Another And Be Loved [2]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Character Analysis, Character Study, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Obsessive Behavior, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeaftermejackrobinson/pseuds/comeaftermejackrobinson
Summary: British philanthropist meets American fucked up kid. He makes her dull heart light up with joy. Soon after, things start to slowly fall apart. They've never owned their heaven, they've only owned their hell.
Relationships: Jianyu Li | Jason Mendoza/Janet (The Good Place), Tahani Al-Jamil & Jianyu Li | Jason Mendoza, Tahani Al-Jamil/Jianyu Li | Jason Mendoza
Series: To Love Another And Be Loved [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554976
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

_oh dear diary, i met a boy_  
_he made my dull heart light up with joy_  
_oh dear diary, we fell apart_

**marina and the diamonds, “bubblegum bitch”**

  
  


**danteofficial** _Welcome to the life of Electra Heart._

_This album is the result of several months of intense, hard work. Since the title leaked a couple of days ago, as it often happens in this industry, there has been a lot of speculation regarding what it is about and whether it will be a sequel to my debut album,_ Soulmate Season. _Because I don't want you guys to be reading bullshit on the internet, I have decided to talk about the album myself before it drops tomorrow at midnight._

_Spoilers ahead, so read at your own risk!_

_The answer to the question some of you have been asking me these past few days is no, my second album is not a sequel. It's a prequel. Electra Heart is the woman all the songs in_ Soulmate Season _are about. I always imagined her to have led a loveless, joyless, complicated life before she died and wound up in hell, but I had never given it much thought until after fans began theorising who she was and what she might have done to end up the way she did._

_You all know by now what she was like in death. Now it's time I tell you about what she was like in life._

_All seventeen tracks map out her journey before she passed away and walked right through the gates of hell with her head held high. The album focuses on four different sides of Electra's personality and how they shaped her story. She was a teen idle, a primadonna girl, a homewrecker, and a suburbian wife._

_Before you ask -- no, Electra is not based on anyone. This is just a character I came up with and have been obsessed over ever since. Electra may not be real, but she is the kind of woman I could see myself falling in love with. Maybe she is out there somewhere and I still haven't found her. But as far as I know, Electra is a fragment of my imagination and she only exists in my music._

_I hope this post saves everyone (myself included) hours and hours of reading crazy theories on Reddit._

Electra Heart _will be released tomorrow midnight. Don't forget to stream it on iTunes and Spotify!_

**6,538,204 likes**

  
  
  


It was a cold, rainy morning, the likes of which Londoners were seeing more and more of as summer came to die at the dawn of September, and Earl's Court tube station was overflowing with people. Careful of the gap between the train and the platform edge -- she was wearing high heel boots, after all -- Tahani Al-Jamil stepped into a carriage that would take her all the way from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to the City of Westminster. 

To her surprise, she found an empty seat. However, this small victory did nothing to improve her mood. 

She should delete that bloody app once and for all, really. Whatever people did or didn't do and what they chose to write about on the internet was none of her business. 

Why did it affect her so much, then?

_Because you're still hung up on someone who has made it very clear that he only wants to be friends with you. You're pathetic, darling. That's why._

She shook her head slightly, trying to drive the intrusive thoughts away as if they were annoying flies. She didn't want to think about this -- _or him_ \-- anymore. Why had she downloaded the Instagram app _again_? (She'd already uninstalled it from her phone twice in the last month, but those decisions never held up for very long. She always ended up crawling right back into the bottomless pit social media had become.) Every time she checked Jason's profile, she found something upsetting. Why did she keep on doing it, then? Why did she expose herself to situations that triggered her anxiety? No wonder she couldn't move on. 

Tahani knew there was a part of her that still believed they could be… what? A proper couple? Lovers? She laughed bitterly, amused at her own stubbornness. She needed to put an end to this; the sooner she kicked Jason out of her mess of a head, the better. She often pictured herself furiously scrubbing certain areas of her brain with a brush until the tissue was bright red and raw, until she finally forgot he existed. It was ridiculous, really. 

On any given day, she'd rather spend her tube ride listening to one of her Spotify playlists and reading a book. She'd stopped by Waterstones earlier in the week and bought the latest Mary Higgins Clark mystery novel, which she hadn't even taken out of her handbag yet. How could she care about what went on in the lives of fictional characters when the pages of her own life were so stained? But she'd been carrying the heavy hardback copy with her everywhere since then, just in case her mind caught a break and afforded her the chance to do something other than analyse her relationship with Jason -- or lack thereof. Because it was clear to her now that they had never had a relationship -- at least not the kind of relationship she'd wanted them to have, no matter how much she had tried, no matter how desperately she'd wanted to believe otherwise. 

In light of recent events, their morning sitting by the River Thames eating fish and chips for breakfast several months ago now seemed as if it had happened to another version of herself, in another life. 

For a couple of hours, she had dared hope there was more to her earthly existence than loneliness and numbness. He'd made her laugh and told her she was pretty. They'd held hands as they walked through Tower Bridge all the way down to Westminster Bridge. They'd even kissed a couple of times -- it'd been chaste and sweet. Innocent. She hadn't pushed for more, and neither had he. And with each second they had shared together, with each word they had said to each other and every smile they had traded, he'd gotten deeper under her skin. 

That night and the ones that followed, she'd fallen asleep within minutes of laying her head on the pillow. She'd dreamed of his shiny black eyes and his laughter, of the little freckles on his nose, of how lovely her name sounded every time he touched it with his tongue and pushed it through his lips. The more she thought of him, the more they texted, the more they talked, the harder she fell. Oh how she fell! 

In a matter of days, Jason Mendoza had done something no one else in the entire history of the universe had accomplished where Tahani Al-Jamil was concerned: he'd made her dull heart light up with joy. 

The first few weeks after what Tahani had thought of (incorrectly, she knew that now) as 'their first date' had been lovely. They'd gone to the movies together, they'd visited some of her favourite museums, and he'd successfully talked her into trying jalapeño poppers (which she'd decided she didn't care for.) There had been a couple of kisses here and there, all of them as innocent and sweet as the ones they'd shared before. And text messages. Oh, there had been thousands of text messages! 

But as it often happens with young love, it all had soon fallen apart. 

Tahani stared out of the carriage's window into dark, empty nothingness. She thought of the last time she'd been at Jason's home in Wimbledon (had a whole month passed already?) and fought back tears. She would not give in and cry over him again. She had to be stronger than that. 

Driven by the same sadomasochistic impulses that had put her in that situation in the first place, Tahani took her iPhone out of her coat's pocket. Flashbacks of that last evening together threatened to make her lose her resolution not to break down right in the middle of London's public transport services. They'd drunk wine that wasn't expensive enough to be good but that Jason loved. They'd eaten take out cordon bleu that would have made Gordon Ramsay punch a wall in a fit of rage. Afterwards, Jason had talked her into smoking weed and watching Twin Peaks. They'd fallen asleep in each other's warm embrace shortly before the crack of dawn. 

And then a couple of hours later he'd broken her heart.

It was nobody's fault but hers, she supposed, that Jason had treated her like utter rubbish. She'd opened up, let her guard down, and then defenceless and blindly walked right into the arms of a childish man that did nothing but use her when convenient and then toss her aside when she called him on his bullshit. He chewed her up and spat her out, the arrogant son of a bitch. 

But somehow Tahani was convinced the fault was hers, not his. _She_ had trusted him, _she_ had given and given until he'd bled her dry, _she_ had wanted more. She had chosen to ignore all the warning signs -- signs Jason himself had been pointing at her the whole time, for during those weeks together he'd told her over and over again that he wasn't good for her and that she would be better off, really, what the fuck was she doing, wanting to have anything to do with the likes of him? She must be off her mind. She must be a sadomasochist. 

She probably was both. 

She _definitely_ was both. 

Unable to stop herself, Tahani checked his Instagram profile again -- that bloody thing really was addictive. And there it was, another post promoting his newest album. The picture was rather simple, hipster even: a close-up of a woman's mouth in black and white and, blowing out of it, a giant bubble made of bright pink chewing gum. Underneath it there were only two words ( _Bubblegum Bitch_ ) and a link to Spotify. 

He'd released the first track. 

Forgetting -- or not caring -- that she had to get off the tube in the next station, she looked for her earbuds in her handbag and put them in quickly, then took them out and put them back in their place, nested between an unopened pack of tissues and a small bottle of hand lotion. She couldn't risk hearing his voice again -- not in public, not when she was certain it would most likely trigger another breakdown. 

But Tahani was curious. It was only natural. In the other post she'd read that morning, Jason explained to his fans he had written this album about a fictional woman he could see himself falling in love with should she exist, should he ever meet her. Tahani _did_ exist and he _had_ met her, but she hadn't been good enough to hold up his interest. She wanted to know what kind of woman could accomplish what she hadn't been able to, that was all. No one could blame her for being curious. 

So she looked up the lyrics instead just to confirm that yes, she, Tahani Al-Jamil, was indeed a masochist. 

Once she was done reading, she closed all the apps on her phone one by one and sat still, eyes fixed on the doors opposite her but not really seeing anything. It was only when she blinked that she realised her vision was blurry -- her eyes were filled with tears again. 

It seemed she still had a long way to go before she could succeed in getting Jason Mendoza completely out of her system. 

"Next station is Covent Garden. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge."

_Oh fuck_. 

She should have gotten off at Piccadilly Circus. The announcement must have gone in one ear and out the other. Taking the Piccadilly line in the other direction was going to be a bloody nightmare now, even if it was supposed to be a two-minute ride. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. 

A quarter of an hour later, as she hurriedly made her way out of the underground and stepped into the daylight (it had stopped raining, thank God!) Tahani felt her phone go off in the pocket of her coat -- a text from the person she should have met with twenty minutes ago, no wonder. She _had_ tried to send him a text apologising excessively and explaining she was going to be late, but it had not gone through. Tube carriages had WiFi now, but it was still impossible to get any signal down there. 

_I'll apologise in person once I get there,_ she decided. There was no point in wasting time writing a text saying she'd arrive in five minutes when she could try to hurry up and be there in three instead. She hated unpunctuality and those who didn't take into consideration other people's busy schedules, but she hated even more than her tardiness was due to the fact that she'd let herself be distracted by thoughts of Jason once again. 

Why was she still so hung up on him? The guy wouldn't even fuck her. 

The thought sent shivers down Tahani's spine. 

They had shared a bed (Jason's) several times, as friends sometimes do, on those occasions it had gotten too late for Tahani to make the journey all the way back from the Borough of Merton to her home in Greater London. He'd always ask her to stay. She'd always say yes. And so the first lights of the morning would inevitably find them asleep in each other's arms, a mess of intertwined limbs, mingled breaths, synchronised heartbeats. 

But they had not had sex, not even once. 

Tahani had wanted more, but she had never pushed for it, had never asked Jason for anything other than what he seemed to be willing to give her. There had been sweet, innocent kisses here and there while they were snuggled up in bed together. But there had also been plenty of over-the-clothes caresses, clumsy hands wandering everywhere as if scared of discovering what was hidden underneath. And there had been words, words he would whisper to her in the darkness, breathing them in her ear, into the smooth skin of her neck and shoulder. He told her she was beautiful, that he wanted to get drunk on her, high on her, that her skin was so soft and smooth it drove him crazy. 

But he never fucked her. 

Jason got hard as a rock _every time_ , and she rubbed her lower body against his crotch _every time_ \-- gently, suggestively -- to no avail. 

He never fucked her. 

And that drove _her_ crazy. 

One night, the ache between her legs had been so intense Tahani thought she would explode if he didn't sooth it with his fingers, his mouth, his cock -- she'd take _anything_ , for heaven's sake. He'd fallen asleep on top of her, his warm breath tickling her ear, the weight of his body deliciously heavy, and his erection pressed firmly on her stomach. They were past the friendship stage, that much was obvious. _This_ was not something friends did. But they weren't lovers either, so what were they?

She'd woken him up and asked him. 

"We're Jason and Tahani," he'd said, eyes still closed and lips moving gently against the skin of her shoulder.

The answer had left Tahani feeling as dissatisfied as she was sexually frustrated. So she'd decided to be bolder. Perhaps what she needed, she'd thought, was to address the situation more directly -- perhaps Jason had been waiting on her all this time, not wanting to rush her into anything she wasn't ready for, sweet man that he was. 

"Are we friends?"

"Of course we're friends," he'd confirmed, nuzzling the crook of her neck. 

_Do you do this with all of your friends?_ Tahani had wanted to ask, but her heart had been beating so out of control in her chest she'd been scared she'd spit it out involuntarily if she opened her mouth to say another word. 

She'd asked anyway. Vomiting her own heart would have been better than not knowing. The question made him sit up, fully awake now. He'd looked her in the eyes and said: 

"You're special to me, doll. I don't wanna mess things up. I don't wanna mess _you_ up." 

"Do you think sex would mess us up?"

"Sex _always_ messes everything up. And to be honest, I'm not in the right headspace to start pounding it out with anybody. My body wants to," both of their eyes had inevitably wandered down to his boxers. "It's just that I'm not emotionally ready. I like how things are between us, princess. But that's all the intimacy I can handle." 

And she'd believed him, of course. How could she not? Every word of every sentence, she'd believed it all. Jason's heart was broken -- Tahani had been able to tell that much the night they'd met. Someone had hurt him, torn him to pieces, and now he was trying to get back up again, wounded and proud and scared, but so very brave. He'd never spoken about this other woman, and Tahani knew how important it was to give him space to heal and talk about it on his own terms, whenever he wanted to. 

So Tahani decided to wait until he felt it was safe to take their relationship to the next level. She had all the time in the world for him. She could be patient. She could be understanding. She could be whatever he needed to mend his broken heart. 

A couple of weeks later, the morning after their Twin Peaks marathon, she had been looking for some paracetamol in the cabinet in his bathroom when she found a box of condoms that hadn't been there the week before. It was open, and half of the contents were missing. 

Ridiculously enough, the first thought that came to Tahani's mind was why someone would keep a box of condoms in the bathroom, in the cabinet above the sink, when you could simply put them in a drawer near the bed -- an alternative that was, in her opinion, much more practical and much more logical. Then, the realisation of what that box probably meant hit her, and she had to fight the urge to throw up. She wasn't as successful fighting the tears, though. 

He'd been in the kitchen at the time, cooking breakfast, wearing nothing but his boxers and a Jaguars t-shirt. He'd known what was wrong the moment he saw her walk through the door holding the box. 

"Oh shit." 

He tried to explain. He tried to apologise. 

But he never denied it. 

He was seeing someone else, and he was fucking her. 

"Why? I thought…"

What? What had she thought? That they were in love? That she was special? That he was damaged and only _she_ could fix him? What was she? Seventeen? Even at that age, she hadn't been that stupid or that irresponsibly naïve. 

"It just happened, you know? I met her and we hit it off, and I felt like it. It's no big deal. It's not like you and I were exclusive or anything. And I'm not exclusive with her, either. We can still be friends, doll. We can still see where this all goes. Don't cry, Tahani," he'd sounded almost exasperated, impatient. Tired. "I knew it'd come to this. I told you I was fucked up. I told you I'd only mess you up. And look at you now, all mad at me and crying. I tried to warn you. I told you I wasn't good for you."

"Oh so _this_ is _my_ fault now!" She'd laughed bitterly. It'd sounded foreign to her ears. Now, every time she thought back to that moment, she tasted the anger and the disappointment and the jealousy on her tongue. A whole month had passed and she hadn't succeeded in getting rid of all that poison. "You went and shagged someone else while I waited for you and somehow it's my bloody fault!" 

"I never made any promises to you, Tahani. I never said we were more than friends or that we couldn't hang out with other people. I never said we couldn't have sex with other people." And it was all true. He hadn't said any of those things. "All I said was that I didn't feel ready to have sex with you. I met this person, and it felt right to be with her. I'm sorry if I hurt you. But I did try to warn you. I'm a fucked up kid, and you knew that from the start." That was also true. But she hadn't cared. 

He'd chewed her up and spat her out, and somehow yes, it was nobody's fault but hers. And he felt no guilt whatsoever because he had tried to push her away a couple of times (he had also sought her out -- but oh no, that didn't really matter because he had warned her before that he was a mess and that she was better off without him, therefore he couldn't be to blame for her decisions.) Tahani, on the other hand, felt guilty enough for the both of them.

Whatever mind games Jason had been playing with her, he had won. She still wasn't sure what he had used her for exactly or why he had said and done the things he'd said and done. She only knew that their brief relationship (if you could call it that) had left her feeling wounded, sad, inadequate and insecure.

And now she was bloody late to a work meeting because Jason Mendoza refused to leave her thoughts alone. 

"Professor Anagonye, I am so sorry I'm late."

The man in question was waiting for her in the coffee shop at Waterstones Piccadilly. He was drinking a black tea and reading a book ( _The Aleph_ by Jorge Luis Borges.) Tahani apologized profusely for her tardiness and offered to buy him another cup of tea. Professor Anagonye told her he understood -- this was London, after all -- and offered to buy her a cup of tea instead. 

When the meeting ended two and a half hours later, Tahani Al-Jamil and Professor Chidi Anagonye parted ways feeling as though they were longtime friends. When she told him it would be a pleasure to work side by side with him on this new project, she wasn't just being polite. She truly believed Professor Anagonye would be an amazing asset for the team she was assembling. 

Feeling a lot better than she had earlier that morning, Tahani decided to take a walk to clear her head. The sun was out, which was a rare occurrence that time of the year. It would be a shame to let such a beautiful day go to waste, or to let thoughts of Jason and the lyrics to his newest song (whoever they were about) distract her. 

She sat on a bench facing away from Green Park Station and took a couple of deep breaths. She had to let Jason and whatever had happened -- or hadn't happened -- between them go. This was a swim or sink situation, and she'd better start swimming if she wanted to stay afloat. No matter how terrible it felt, no matter how much she missed him, or how badly she wanted him, or how passionately she hated him. No matter how much she wished she could be like the woman he wrote about, the woman he admitted he could fall in love with if their paths ever crossed. 

_Electra Heart._

Could she ever be like this fictional woman? The one he described in his song as a pin-up doll with a perfect figure and addictive pink liquor lips. The one he imagined was desperate to be adored (well, wasn't she, Tahani, a little bit like that already?) The one girl he'd die for, his biggest fan, beautiful enough to get away with being a bitch. Interesting enough to have him eating out of her hand. 

All of the things Tahani Al-Jamil wished she could be. 

Could she ever be like Electra Heart? 

The question hung in the air for a moment, and all of a sudden the day didn't seem as beautiful or as bright anymore. Tahani wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to that question, anyway, so she decided not to dwell on it. 

She then got up and left. 

On her way home, she noticed she still had one unread message. Professor Anagonye's, probably. She'd have to remember to send him a card with a thank you note. It was the least she could do -- the poor chap had waited for her for half an hour, and then he had insisted she let him pay for her tea! _This man must have the patience of a saint._

But as it turned out, the message wasn't from him. 

  
  


**Unknown Number**

Hey doll. I know things weren't alright last time we saw each other. But I'm dropping my new album tomorrow and I've got a gig at the Royal Albert Hall one week from today. It would be dope if you could come. I asked my manager to leave a VIP ticket with your name at the box office in case you wanna use it. Hope to see you there. Take care. 

  
  


There he was again, the fucked up kid, seeking her out. And there she was again, the girl who feared loneliness and numbness out of anything else, reading his words over and over again until they no longer made sense. Because all in all, Jason Mendoza still was the only one who could make her dull heart light up with joy. Even if he'd toyed with it and broken it before. Even if things between them had already fallen apart once. 

She didn't sleep a wink that night, but by the following morning and after having listened to Jason's _Electra Heart_ over and over again obsessively, Tahani Al-Jamil had made up her mind. 

_I'm gonna be a bubblegum bitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second part of Jason and Tahani's journey. 
> 
> Once again, this work has been inspired by Marina's brilliant songs, more specifically the ones included in her second studio album, Electra Heart. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are good for my soul. I always love hearing about what readers feel and think. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I've been enjoying planning and writing every chapter. More to come soon! 
> 
> Love, 
> 
> Dai


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning
> 
> This chapter mentions and describes characters smoking weed.

_and i'm sad to the core_   
_every day is a chore_   
_what you give i want more_   
_i wanna be adored_

**marina and the diamonds, “primadonna”**

The days leading up to Tahani seeing Jason again were filled with anxiety attacks and the terrible, premonitory feeling that going to his show at the Royal Albert Hall was doomed to be a big mistake. 

During that week, she slept very little and ate even less. She made a lot of tea, though. The familiarity of the ritual -- putting the kettle on, waiting for the water to boil, pouring herself a cup, adding the skimmed milk last -- brought a sense of control that was missing from other areas in her life. More often than not, the cup went untouched until the tea was too cold to be any good. When she did drink it, the beverage did nothing to better her mood. 

Weed, on the other hand, was a different story. 

She'd never smoked before Jason. He introduced her to the habit early on in their acquaintance (Tahani was deliberately avoiding the use of the word 'relationship', even in her very own mess of a head.) He'd first tempted her with cigarettes on the night they met. Then, when he'd offered to share a joint -- "Just take a short hit, doll. See how it makes you feel," -- Tahani had made a joke about good girls going bad over pretty boys. 

"Baby, I'm gonna ruin you if you let me stay in your life." The warning had meant nothing at the time. Now she knew different, of course. "A lady like you shouldn't be mixing with a tramp like me. I'm not worth going to hell for."

"They don't send you to hell for smoking a bloody joint," she'd laughed, blissfully unaware of the silly things they _did_ send you to hell for. How was she to know there was a complex point system, and that you lost 35 points every time you even _thought_ of smoking weed? 

"Who is 'they'?" 

The question had surprised her. 

"God? The Devil?" She'd shrugged. And then she'd added, teasingly: "You wrote an award-winning album about hell, you should know."

He'd laughed. In Tahani's opinion, the sound of Jason's laughter could light up any room in a second -- she had never dared telling him as much, and now she was glad that she had fought the impulse to do so (there was only so much humiliation a person could take.) But the way she had looked at him that night, both of them carelessly sprawled on the couch with their leftovers from dinner going cold right in their cardboard takeaway containers on the floor -- he had to have known how she felt about him. There was no doubt in her mind now: as he was lying there, a joint in one hand and a lighter in the other, he had to have known she was falling in love with him. 

That hadn't kept him from acting carelessly with her feelings, of course. The irresponsible son of a bitch. (But how could she have known? _Should_ she have known? Had it been obvious from the beginning, the fact that he was leading her on for whatever complex, twisted reasons?) 

"So you think it's decided for us?" Jason had sounded genuinely interested in her opinion. One of the things Tahani had really loved about him was that he always seemed eager to listen to the things she had to say. 

Her answer to his question had been a question of her own: "You don't?" 

"I think you decide yourself. Like the characters in my songs. They all went to hell because they made the wrong choices over and over again. If they had lived differently, maybe they wouldn't have ended up being tortured by demons."

"You sound as if you knew them. As if they were real people."

The thought had occurred to Tahani not for the first time. The more she listened to _Soulmate Season_ , the more she was convinced Jason had to have written those songs about people he'd known personally, no matter how much he insisted the whole thing was based on dreams he had had after reading Dante's _Divine Comedy_ years ago. "I just sat down one day and began imagining what kind of people would hate to spend eternity living next door to each other," he'd explained to TV show hosts every time the question came up (and the question came up _a lot_ ) "and what kind of people would never make sense on paper as a couple but could end up falling in love with each other if made believe they were soulmates."

He'd said the same thing to Tahani (not only that night, but every other time she had asked.) "Everyone keeps asking me the same questions, no matter how many times I tell them the truth. It's just a bunch of people I made up." 

She had dropped the subject then, like she always did. There was no point in pushing him to open up about something he obviously thought was better kept private. It made her feel sad that he didn't trust her enough to tell her the truths she was so sure he was hiding from everyone else. (She also felt deeply envious of whoever happened to be the woman that had hurt him enough to inspire him to write such masterpiece, but that was a rabbit hole she had chosen not to fall down then, and she was choosing to ignore the feeling had ever existed now that things with him had gone to the dogs so quickly, so inexplicably.)

"So what do you think?" Tahani had sat up and straddled him, her eyes darkened by desire. She'd put one hand on his shoulder and run the other through his hair. Her every move had been inviting, like everything else she did around him those days in the hopes of eliciting the response she craved so much -- but always to no avail. 

She'd taken the joint and the lighter from Jason and looked him dead in the eye -- how could someone be so breathtakingly gorgeous? "If I light it, will I go to hell?"

"Oh Miss Al-Jamil, I don't want to have that on my conscience. Taking the risk is up to you."

They'd laughed. In a moment of both vulnerability and boldness she'd told him experiencing the world through all possible perspectives was worth going to hell for. He'd taught her how to smoke weed that night, and so their (brief) history of joint-sharing had begun. 

"What did that woman in your songs go to hell for?" she remembered asking him. They had been lying side by side on the floor at the time. For some reason the floor had seemed more comfortable than the couch all of a sudden. 

"They ask me that one a lot, too. I didn't think about it when I wrote the songs. I just knew I needed four people in hell for the concept to work the way I wanted it. I never really questioned why they were there. When I started writing the songs all I thought was _OK, they just died and woke up there_."

"But you must have some idea as to why. What were her greatest sins?" 

Jason had taken so long to reply, Tahani had thought he'd fallen asleep. But when he'd finally spoken, he'd done it with his voice full of certainty, as if he had spent the last fifteen or twenty minutes analysing every word that was to get out of his perfect, beautiful mouth. 

"Greed. And vanity. All she ever wanted was the world to praise and adore her. She couldn't help needing it all -- men wrapped around her finger and begging on their knees, buying big diamond rings for her and confessing their undying love left and right. Getting everything she wanted just because she asked for it, not because she was really that deserving of it."

To this day, Tahani hated how frequently she thought of those words. She was hung up on them almost as much as she was hung up on Jason Mendoza himself. At the time, it had felt as though he'd been describing _the Other Tahani_. The girl she could have become if she had not decided to be different from the people she was forced to call her family because biology and genealogy determined so. The girl she sometimes thought was still trapped somewhere inside her head, biding her time to come out, eternally numbed by the medication her doctor prescribed and Tahani's own efforts to avoid ending up being as shitty as her sister and her parents. 

The primadonna girl that wanted nothing but the world. The praise. The adoration. The applause. All eyes on her, all hearts set on her. So imperfect, and yet clever enough to have everyone fooled into believing that she was the embodiment of perfection. 

That's exactly what she could have become -- the kind of spoiled, narcissistic, self-obsessed, self-absorbed person that values beauty and material possessions above everything else, and then dies young and goes straight to hell where she still behaves like she fucking owned the place because she's learned nothing from her wrongful ways. Because why would she have to learn something from her past? She was already bloody perfect, had been bloody perfect every single day of her earthly existence, thank you very much. And could she please speak to the manager? She wasn't all that happy with the couple living next door. 

Fortunately, she'd seen the error of her ways long before vanity and greed had a chance to consume her the way they had Jason's character. And now this Other Tahani, the Tahani that could have been, the primadonna girl, the Tahani that resembled Electra Heart so much, was locked away inside her mind, repressed. 

(But for how long, really?) 

"Did she fall in love with any of those men?" Tahani had asked. For some reason she'd felt it was important to know whether Jason's character had died having known love, or if she had gone to her grave as lonely and as loveless as she had lived. 

Jason had taken another minute or two to ponder this particular question, as if he'd been thinking of all of this for the very first time. This assumption was ridiculous, of course. He had been asked about the conception of his characters so many times and by so many people, it was impossible he'd never thought of their pasts before they passed away and got sent to hell, no matter how much he insisted otherwise (these bloody artists and their being so overprotective of their mysterious creative process!) However, Tahani had secretly harboured the hope that she was the first person he was sharing this information with. 

"She refused them all," he'd explained. "She just toyed with them, enjoyed the attention and tossed them away when they became boring and predictable. I suppose she had a big ego as well and thought no one was good enough for her. She was kind of difficult to deal with, but somehow she always managed to blame it on someone else." 

As always, he'd spoken about this character as if she was a real woman and not just a fictional character. Perhaps that was why everyone still insisted so much he had to have known these people to write so well and in so much detail about their afterlives. Perhaps that was why no one believed this was something he'd dreamed about. Tahani herself had doubts sometimes. 

"This girl, she never saw she was far from perfect. Never settled for anything. Whatever they gave her, she wanted more. She was never happy or satisfied," he'd added. 

"It sounds like she was lonely and sad," Tahani had pointed out. 

"Yes, she was," Jason had murmured, more to himself than for Tahani to hear. "She was very lonely and very sad." 

"And how did she die? What happened right before she walked right through the gates of hell with her head held high?" she had quoted from his very own lyrics. That was the opening line of his debut album: _She walked right through the gates of hell with her head held high._ For some reason, the words still sent shivers down Tahani's spine every time she listened to that song. 

"She was crushed by the weight of her own flaws."

"How so?"

But Jason had ignored Tahani's question and gone on talking about this imaginary woman, as if that now that he had someone he trusted to discuss her with he couldn't contain himself. Or at least Tahani had wanted to believe that she was special enough for him to want to open up about his creative process with. All bollocks, of course, she knew that now. 

"I guess I always imagined her as someone who led a loveless, joyless, complicated life, you know?" And then he'd said: "Maybe I should write about that for my next album." 

"Yes, maybe you should."

After that, they had both fallen silent until the following morning. 

And now he had in fact gone ahead and written a whole album based on that conversation they had had while lying on the floor of his house, passing a joint back and forth. 

To Tahani, those memories felt like something that had happened to her in another life and not a couple of weeks ago. There were moments she wasn't even sure those nights smoking with Jason -- or anything regarding Jason for that matter -- had happened at all. 

The truth was, she did not know what to believe anymore. She still did not understand why Jason had led her on. It wasn't like he had used her for sex. He hadn't treated her like one would an easy shag -- _he hadn't even shagged her_. 

Seeing how he had apparently written a new album in record time after their conversation, Tahani couldn't help but wonder whether she'd been an unwilling participant in some sort of twisted, avant-garde creative ritual. She'd seen it with Kamilah all those years ago -- there weren't much things her sister wouldn't have done in the throes of creativity, no matter how morally dubious those things would have seemed to others (not that anyone would have believed Tahani if she chose to speak ill of perfect, beloved Kamilah -- but that was a story for another time.) 

Even if she didn't understand what he had been doing playing with her emotions or why he had chosen to do so, the main problem remained: she _did_ feel used, and it was frustrating not knowing exactly what she'd been used for. It was even more frustrating having to constantly fight the urge to text him, to ask him...what? _Why don't you want me as much as I want you? Why won't you fuck me? Did you have fun messing with my head?_

_What does Electra Heart have that I don't have?_

It was the last question what truly drove Tahani up the wall. She was measuring herself against a fictional character, something that was far worse, far more dangerous than measuring herself against her sister or anyone else her parents had ever compared her and made her compete with. She would never breathe a word of this to anybody, of course. There were things she knew were better kept private, hidden in the same corner of her head where that Other Tahani sat, tapping one foot impatiently while she waited for her chance to come out after spending half her life forced into hiding. 

The Other Tahani. The primadonna girl that could have been. The one that resembled Jason's beloved Electra so much it was impossible not to wonder if he would have fallen for that version of herself she had refused to become. 

_She's got the world eating out of her hand,_ sang Jason in one of his new songs, _wishes to be adored / as much as she fears being hated_. And then: _What men give, she wants more / Down on one knee they all go / Pop that pretty question right now baby / but chances are she'll say no / And don't bother holding onto that jewelry receipt / She tosses the guys / but keeps the diamond rings._

That was the kind of woman he imagined himself falling for. A fucked up kid, indeed. But what did that say about Tahani? She wanted him the same way he wanted this imaginary girl that used and discarded people (just like Jason had used and discarded her.) That probably meant she was as messed up -- perhaps even more. 

Tahani lit a joint and closed her eyes as she took the first hit. It went without saying that this newfound habit was one she would never ever admit to. With Jason, she had discovered that smoking weed relaxed her. It cleared her head and allowed her a moment to just _be_ . She hated that it was something Jason had introduced her to, and how she would always inevitably associate the act with him, but _it calmed her._ Anxious as she was these days, she wasn't about to refuse anything that helped her take her hyperactive, overachiever mind off things. And it wasn't like she did it all the time, or that she depended on it to function. It wasn't affecting her behaviour or her productivity. She took a hit here and there, that was all. He had taught her how to not overdo it. He'd been clever like that. 

Besides, she needed the breathing space and calmness weed afforded her to think what to do next where Jason Mendoza was concerned. 

Even though she knew it wasn't in her best interests to do so, she had decided she would go to Jason's gig at the Royal Albert Hall. Did this make her a confirmed masochist? Probably. Was she too obsessed with making him want her she could not see how fucked up her whole plan was? Yes, of course, there was no doubt about that. But she belonged to a generation that didn't know better - and why would they? They had been born and raised in a world where young love did nothing to you but chew you up and spit you out. 

However, she knew better than to answer to the text Jason had sent her earlier that evening. 

**  
  
**

**Unknown Number**

Have you listened to the album? I finally made up my mind and got my ideas together about who she was before she got sent to hell. It would be dope to know what you think. You were on my mind a lot while I worked on it. 

**  
  
  
**

_Yes, I have listened to the album,_ she wanted to tell him. _I have listened to it a hundred times already, and it makes me wish I wasn't this bloody boring good girl you wouldn't even fuck._

Tahani found Electra equally fascinating and disturbing. There was something upsetting about envying a (dead, mind you) fictional character, but she did. She was jealous of her, and furious that the whole world seemed to love hating her for her toxic, wicked ways. Social media and news platforms were overflowing with posts about Electra. Girls everywhere had started to draw a little heart with black mascara up on their right cheeks and just below the eye to emulate the woman on the album's cover. According to a BuzzFeed article Tahani had stumbled upon, even Kamilah had done it and shared the picture with her Instagram followers afterwards. It was ridiculous. (What was even more ridiculous was that Tahani herself had tried it once in the solitude of her ensuite bathroom -- not that she would ever wear such thing out in public.)

People were obsessed with Electra, but Tahani felt she had no right to judge them because she was the worst of them all. The root of her obsession had nothing to do with with the work of art in itself and everything to do with the artist. If she had been any wiser, she would have stopped herself long before reaching this point. 

He sent her another text later that evening. 

**  
  
**

**Unknown Number**

I hate that you're mad at me girl :( I really hope to see you at my gig, would mean a lot to me doll. Take care. 

****  
  


She didn't reply, of course. 

She didn't block his number, either. 

He was seeking her out when he should have left her alone after the way he'd treated her, and that was wrong of him, but it couldn't be denied that Tahani liked being sought out and that she was doing absolutely nothing to discourage him. If anything, she wanted him to interpret her silence as a challenge (perhaps because that was what someone as twisted as Electra would do.)

The night before the concert at the Royal Albert Hall, Tahani Al-Jamil went to bed knowing that in less than 24 hours she would be seeing Jason Mendoza again. Anxiety made sleeping practically impossible, so she tossed and turned until her alarm went off at half past six. She made some tea and toast for breakfast (it all remained untouched, and ultimately the tea went cold and the bread soggy) and then tried to go about her day as normally as possible (she did pretty well, all things considered.)

She left the house at a quarter to six, the all too familiar acidic sensation she associated with nervousness going up and down her throat, burning her from the inside. She knew what she wanted to say, knew what she wanted to happen if she got the chance to see him afterwards (and she was sure that that text was coming, the one with him asking her to meet backstage once the concert was over) but she had no idea what to expect of the evening as a whole because she wasn't sure what _he_ wanted, what _he_ needed from her, what _he_ was really after. And that was as exciting as it was terrifying. 

His texts (and the fact that he kept on sending them despite the lack of replies from her) should have been enough of a warning sign that he was still in the mood to play cat and mouse with her, but once again she chose to ignore the red flags and make out of things whatever appealed to her more. Because one thing was clear, and that was that Jason was still hung up on her. 

She knew he _had_ to be. 

What Tahani did not know was how awful it would be, the chain reaction her choices were about to cause. But how could she have known better than this? She belonged to a generation used to chew each other up and spit each other out (that was what young love was all about, wasn't it?) 

She didn't know she wouldn't live long enough to completely regret said choices, either. But again, how could she have known? 

_Fucked up, she was. Fucked up, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! How have you been? I hope you're safe and home, wherever in the world that is for you. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for coming back to this story to read a new chapter. It means the world to me that you are still interested in going with Tahani and Jason on this journey -- even long after the end of our beloved show.
> 
> As always, getting comments from you is both inspiring and rewarding. I love hearing from you. I believe an author's work is not complete until it has found a reader to give it meaning -- only then will the process come full circle. So if there's anything on your mind you want to share with me, I'm always happy to see my Inbox go from (0) to (1). 
> 
> I hope you have a lovely Saturday wherever you are. And those of us in London, let's keep praying for the good weather to continue -- it definitely makes lockdown a lot more easy to get through. 
> 
> Lots of love, 
> 
> Dai


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